With or Without You
by Atomix330
Summary: Alcohol is not the solution to life's problems but is a comfort when dwelling on the path not taken. In self imposed exile from Downton, Matthew meets a beautiful woman before drinking himself under the table. An AU story from the end of series 2. It's 1925 and things are about to change... (Eventual M/M)
1. Chapter 1

**With or Without You – Chapter 1 – One Last Dance**

 _A/N: This is a substantial rework of a previous posting of mine called 'Learn to Fly'. I've edited and added to it and the result is much better. I will leave the original up if anybody wishes to read it._

 _This story begins in 1925. In the context of Mary and Carlisle marrying in 1920. Sybil lives. The Carlisles are in America and Matthew is drowning his sorrows. Nevertheless, it may be slow but it will be Matthew and Mary eventually…_

* * *

He'd been impeccably dressed in a morning coat, ascot tie, and grey waistcoat on this day five years previously. His shoes shone like mirrors, his foppish hair combed back perfectly, and his collar was starched to perfection. His appearance was immaculate.

He went to the Parish church that morning for a wedding.

People had lined the streets in expectation, the bunting criss-crossed above the road and the church bells rang a merry peal out across the surrounding countryside.

The bride was so elegant, so refined. She wore the finest jewellery with a smile to outshine the brightest of the diamonds in her tiara on her face to match. She looked at him through her veil as she began the long walk up the aisle to the booming tune of the Wedding March.

Stained glass saints illuminated by the morning sun watched over the proceedings as the vicar began the service. The day was perfect, idyllic if you will.

But it wasn't his wedding.

The people weren't lining the streets because of him. The bunting hadn't been put out for him. The bells were not ringing out for him. The organ didn't serenade them, it played for the bride and groom. The smile to outshine a million diamonds was not produced for him. The saints didn't care for him. All eyes were on her.

He wasn't even sure she was truly smiling – he couldn't see her eyes reflecting the joy expressed on her face. He couldn't tell if she was a bride on the brink of heaven. Perhaps she smiled because duty demanded she make the best of a bad lot. The lack of expression in her eyes was the first crack in what might have seemed to be a perfect picture. There was a mild chill in the air. The clouds had begun to roll across the sky since the start of the service, dimming the glass tableaus in the windows and casting a literal shadow over proceedings. The bride's suspect expression of joy was matched by a terse smile on the face of the groom. He was disturbingly smug. It wasn't a loving smile, more of a victorious one. He'd won her. No doubt he'd toast his success alone in a parlour, draft a piece for publication in one of his newspapers and only then proceed to the bedroom.

He'd not taken a seat in the family pew today. He feared he might do something stupid and try to stop the wedding. At one time, she might have been his, but he had had his chance and blown it to pieces. Their show had flopped and vacated the stage whilst a new one, the Carlisle one was rehearsed and from today, was put into production. She would after today leave his everyday life forever. A life she had been part of for most of the last seven or eight years. They might exchange cards on birthdays or gifts at Christmas or even the odd piece of correspondence. He might go to her child's christening and she might come to him with a legal matter that may need attention. And they'd go on in this way, as acquaintances within the extended family.

Too distant for friendship, too conservative too publicly display a mutual affection – even if it was nineteen twenty! Too many secrets, too many ghosts and missed chances. Too many regrets over what might have been. So would end the story of Mary and Matthew.

It had taken every fibre in his being to stay silent when the Bishop – Mary had wanted Travers, Carlisle wanted the Bishop – asked the congregation for any reason why the marriage should not take place. He could have sworn that she had turned her head ever so slightly for an instant to look at him through her peripheral vision. Perhaps she had wanted him to say something to stop this charade. It was more likely that she had turned to glance at her husband. She didn't want Matthew any more. She didn't need him. Maybe it was the ultimate expression of love for him to have respect enough for both himself and her to let the wedding go on un-hindered. Perhaps there were some in the congregation who wished that he had spoken up and ended the farce. Was he a coward for not rising? Or was he just resigned to it all – yet another stage in a game where the player must appear ridiculous.

Life isn't fair, it isn't supposed to be. You win things and you lose things. In this case he had lost Mary to Carlisle. The small, sardonic part of him asked himself whether he had had a lucky escape by refusing Mary. After all, if her standard of man was that of Carlisle, then she might not be considered such a great loss. Yet despite part of his mind playing devil's advocate, he felt the overwhelming loss of a woman, no, the woman, that he loved.

He didn't watch them proceed out of the door and into the fast dulling morning light. He instead moved to the side of the church as the building began to empty. He was very quickly the only person in the nave. The clergy had retreated to the vestry, the congregation had ventured into the church-yard. They were a cacophony of cheers and applause, muffled somewhat from Matthew's position as he moved towards the aisle by the thick stone walls that had stood for centuries.

The air of celebration that had persisted within the consecrated stones rapidly cooled. Matthew felt a mild draft hit him as he himself moved to exit the church. 'The winds of change', he had mused. He turned to look back at the altar and said a silent prayer to whatever God that might be listening to bless the newlyweds and to, more importantly, keep her safe, and happy.

He didn't show up for the wedding breakfast. He'd been invited to both the breakfast and the evening ball. He would have only been there to keep up appearance. The heir to the bride's home not attending all of the social niceties after her wedding might at best defy convention and at worst broadcast to the outside world a disapproval of the new union. As much as he hated Carlisle, he wouldn't have wanted to snub Mary. Nevertheless, he asked his mother to make his excuses. Complaining of a headache he promised to be in attendance later that evening.

Excuses made, he walked the short distance back to Crawley house where he put away his hat, coat and gloves, found a whisky decanter and poured a large Scotch to steady his nerves. Inevitably, one Scotch lead to another, and another and another until finally a combination of good alcohol and utter mental exhaustion and mental restraint knocked him out.

The damage, however, had been done. The large Scotch he had poured himself five years ago had pushed him into the grips of the age old vice of drink. It was how he found himself to be in a London club on a spring night in 1925. Five years to the day since the first love of his life walked out of his life.

* * *

He was impeccably dressed tonight. His dinner jacket and black tie contrasted as sharply with his white shirt as his impeccable dress contrasted with his actions. He was alone with only a bottle for company, five years to the day since the last major upset in his life. Five years since she walked out of his life. Five years since he had left Downton in a fit of embarrassment and shame on the afternoon train. He hadn't darkened the doorstep of the great Abbey since.

He was 'celebrating' the date by sitting alone in one of the nightclubs he seemed to frequent more and more these days. He was sat in sombre, if not sober reflection. Sipping his fifth scotch of the evening, the great heir - who was seen by some as one of the most eligible bachelors in town - was well on his way to intoxication.

"May I join you?"

Four words that broke him out of his sombre reverie as the band finished their latest song. The speaker wore a radiant smile and a black dress that barely reached her knees. The dress accentuated her impressive figure and highlighted her elegant legs. Had he actually had a clear head, Matthew's mind might have been able to compute that a highly attractive woman was starting a conversation with him.

She was a brunette. The last brunette he had been with was Mary. If Matthew had thought about it, there was a vague resemblance in his alcohol befuddled mind but the combination of the alcohol in his system and the shock at the fact that somebody actually wanted to talk to him tonight shut down the delivery of any verbal response before it had left his mouth. Instead he merely nodded.

"May I?" she asked brightly, indicating the seat next to him.

"By all means," he muttered, smiling tersely. He returned his gaze to the amber depths of the crystal tumbler half full of whisky in his hand.

"You look like you need some company." Alicia said. But she appeared to say it to nobody in particular as Matthew didn't acknowledge her any further.

"I don't think we've met before; Alicia Ashbridge," she held out her hand to introduce herself.

"Matthew Crawley," he replied sullenly. He didn't take her hand. Instead he drained the rest of his scotch and set the now empty tumbler back on the table.

Alicia, sensing she wasn't getting anywhere in the fledgling conversation tried a different tack. "Well Mr Crawley, will you not get your lady a drink?" she smiled coquettishly at him. Matthew flinched at the word 'lady'.

"Uh-" whatever his alcohol infused mind may have been expecting, it wasn't that. Who would want to drink with him; Matthew Crawley, the eligible bachelor who had faded from public view and drank in nightclubs in an effort to forget his past.

"Come now Mr Crawley, it's nineteen twenty-five, not eighteen twenty five. A man can buy a woman a drink without being properly introduced!" her smile didn't falter.

"Well, uh-" he turned to look at her. She was very attractive. She wasn't Mary but she was very attractive. The dress suited her, but since 'when did dresses get so short'? His alcohol addled brain asked himself. And why did such an attractive woman want to talk to him?

But Alicia wasn't looking at him anymore. She had changed her attention to the bartender. "Excuse me!"

"Yes ma'am?"

"We'd like to order drinks. I'll take a dry Martini and my friend here will have a – what will you be having Mr Crawley?"

"Another scotch please," he replied holding up his empty glass.

The bartender proceeded to mix Alicia's martini.

"So what do you do for a living Mr Crawley?"

"I'm a lawyer. From Manchester. I used to work in Yorkshire." He replied shortly.

"I've got a distant cousin who went to live in near Whitby," she mused. "Indulge my curiosity Mr Crawley, and tell me; what would a Yorkshire lawyer be doing in a place like this?" gesturing to the organised chaos of the nightclub around her.

"Drowning his sorrows," he shrugged. "When the band starts up, it gets so loud that I can forget."

"What are you trying to forget Mr Crawley?"

"A woman, two women in fact," Matthew replied curtly. "Why are you here Miss – is that right – Miss Ashbridge?"

But the conversation was interrupted by the bar tender. "Excuse me ma'am, would you like lemon or olive with your martini?"

"Lemon please."

"There you go, one dry Martini with lemon for the lady, and a scotch for the gentleman." The barman produced their drinks with a flourish.

They thanked the man and resumed their conversation.

"Why am I here?" echoed Alicia, "I'm trying to move on."

"A man?"

"He died."

"In the war?" Matthew asked, staring into the amber depths of the whisky tumbler as Alicia sipped her drink.

"He fought. Did you?"

"I was in the trenches for two years. I'd rather not talk about it."

"My husband was the same. He was wounded in October 1918."

"He survived then. Many didn't. I should have died."

Alicia ignored the latter part of his morose comment. "He might have survived but the war changed him. It changed us all. I married him in 1913. We were happy together, even if he didn't originally marry me for me. He married me for my fortune but we came to an arrangement and we were falling in love.

"Then a Serbian shot an Austrian and then Europe was at war.

"The last time I saw the man I loved was the night before he left for France. He came back a shell. I didn't recognise him anymore. When he came back on leave, he'd be cold. His face would be devoid of emotion. He may never have quite loved me in the same way that I loved him, but when he came back from France, there was nothing left of the old Phillip.

"Even after the war ended, he was never quite the same. He'd have these horrible nightmares and thrash and scream in bed. Or he would hallucinate and start seeing things at the breakfast table and flinch every time he heard a firework or a car backfire. I'd got used to it. And then, one day, I was here, in town and when I got back from the railway station, I found he'd gone and found a gun and shot himself."

Matthew shuddered involuntarily.

"I'm the widow of a man who went and committed suicide in the dining room on a June afternoon. So technically I'm once again Miss Ashbridge…" She trailed off, studying the look on Matthew's face.

"I've shocked you haven't I?" she said coyly. "What must you be thinking?"

"That you were very unfortunate."

"I didn't love him by the end Mr Crawley. He came back from war like a dead man walking. It was going to happen eventually, it was just a matter of when. I was prepared for it. I loved the man he was, not the husk he had become. Sometimes I think it would have been to kinder for him never to have returned. I must sound morbid."

"The heroes were the ones who didn't return." Matthew said in the lull in conversation.

"Do you think that it ever changes? Miss Ashbridge?" he asked, looking into her eyes. They were hazel; lighter than Mary's soft dark pools that could harden to a cold black ice when she so desired. Alicia's eyes seemed to sparkle with light and warmth and joy and hope.

"What changes?"

"Love? Affairs of the heart?"

"The only constants in our lives are changes Mr Crawley," she replied, thoughtful. "My husband changed, I changed because he changed. When he died I changed again. In some ways his death was a relief. I don't think I would have been able to cope after too long. But enough about me. I must be starting to sound very macabre!"

"I hadn't really noticed," Matthew said, staring once again in to the amber depths of his glass whilst Alicia took another sip of her Martini.

"So tell me then. What happened to your love, or rather loves?"

"Lavinia was taken by the flu in 1919. We were engaged. I was her officer fiancé and she was my girl at home. I was about to break it off and the flu struck. She died very quickly."

"That's awful."

"It was my fault. I strung her along and played her for a fool. When I was wounded I had to send her away. But she kept coming back."

"She loved you."

"More than I loved her."

"And the other woman?" Alicia asked.

"Mary," he breathed.

"We met in 1912. I proposed in 1914 and she turned me down. We remained friendly during the war but I had met Lavinia and she had met somebody else. He wasn't good enough for her. But they married nevertheless. I probably should have said something, but I'd had my chance. We danced at her wedding…"

And it all came back.

* * *

He could remember the dance as if it were yesterday. One last waltz. The last dance of the evening. One last encore for Matthew and Mary.

Matthew had made it to the house after sobering up in the parlour at Crawley House. He had slept through the afternoon before waking, changing into something appropriate for a ball and leaving the house for the Abbey. There were no servants left at Crawley House, the wedding had required all the estate staff to help at the big house. Consequentially Matthew satisfied his stomach by finding some bread and cheese in the larder and made a very late Ploughman's lunch.

He was late to the ball and so missed the few opening dances. When he entered the great hall at the Abbey, he found a scene of jubilation. The bride simply shone. The bride's father, the Earl, his Cousin Robert looked immensely proud of what his eldest daughter had achieved. The countess was beaming from ear to ear. Even the Dowager Countess, whatever her opinion of the groom appeared to be enjoying herself. Although Cousin Violet was probably enjoying the food rather more than the unfortunate choice of husband for her granddaughter. His mother was deep in conversation about something with Cousin Rosamund.

Mary and Carlisle were leading the couples on the dance floor. As soon as Matthew made his appearance, Edith accosted him and starting talking to him about all manner of things, which mostly revolved around her parents' disapproval of Anthony Strallan.

Sybil then added to the conversation by debating the virtues of Mary's new husband and discussing with Edith whether Matthew would find anybody to share his life with after Lavinia. Whether they had remembered that Matthew was indeed present and could hear the conversation they were having and were deliberately tip toeing very carefully around the issue of Mary's relationship with Matthew, he would never know.

His attention was almost entirely focused on Mary for the next few dances. Well, Mary and copious glasses of champagne that he had consumed whilst watching her dance.

Edith and Sybil eventually drifted away to dance with some of the guests. Mary's American grandmother, who he hadn't actually noticed arrived from New York in the last few weeks before the wedding, was the one to drag him to the dance floor to dance the third to last dance of the evening. Ordinarily, he would have refused but the alcohol that had been circulating his body had lowered his inhibitions somewhat.

"So you are the young man who gets all of my money when Robert's gone!" she said by way of greeting.

"Technically the money has been part of the estate since Cora married Robert."

"You British aristocrats have a funny way of gaining wealth." She mused.

"It's called an inheritance."

"I still don't get why a lawyer….they tell me you are a lawyer – will get all of this," she waved her arms vaguely, "at some point in time."

"Robert's grandfather created an entail for the estate. The estate goes to the male heir – the one who will inherit the title."

"Yes I know that. But I'm asking why you?"

"I'm only distantly related, Robert is my third cousin once removed."

"You know, if we were in America, I would have sued you for control of the estate by now. I would have given you a fair settlement. But I would have sued you. After eight years. An estate going to a distant relative would be unheard of New York."

"I might have been happier if you did."

"You may well have been. I know what Mary meant to you." Her gaze softened slightly as they danced. "It's similar to what my Isidore felt for me." Martha patted his shoulder. "Don't you worry, there will be another girl who comes along."

"But not like Mary."

"Maybe. But there are plenty of girls in New York who might be interested in an eligible British bachelor. The heir to an earldom to boot. New York society would be interested in you. If you ever happen to venture to the New World, then you should get in touch. As it happens Matthew, I rather like you." She patted his shoulder again as the music ended. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to go and do battle with my English counterpart she's planning some sort of party for my youngest granddaughter and still thinks the world is stuck in 1890." Matthew chuckled, the first time he had come close to laughing in weeks, if not months.

"Enjoy your evening Matthew." And in a flurry of heavily scented, billowing taffeta silk, she was gone.

She was replaced by something much lighter.

Mary.

She was standing there. Standing there, waiting for him.

"You've been avoiding me," she said with a coy smile and a raised eyebrow.

"Uh-"

As he had been in 1912, he was completely dumbstruck. His mouth hung open slightly. The Dowager may have remarked upon his excellent impression of a cod fish.

"Grandmama didn't completely bore you then?" Mary continued, ignoring Matthew's stupefied state.

Matthew finding something with which to make conversation, replied; "No on the contrary, I think she went from asking why I'm inheriting to trying to find me a wife in the New World."

"Well it worked for Papa," she smiled. "Are you going to ask me to dance? Richard had to step out for a moment, last minute details for the honeymoon. Paris, then Nice then Switzerland and finally Italy. We'll be moving to Haxby Park when we return, the Russell's old place. Richard bought it as a wedding present for me. I don't think I could quite match it," she rambled on almost wistfully. Matthew hung upon every word.

"Matthew? Matthew?" she called, trying to bring him out of his almost trance like state.

"Yes—" he spluttered.

"Will you dance with me?"

"Dance with you?"

"Yes, as a couple, on the dance floor. I know we haven't really talked in what seems like months since Richard and I set a date but surely you can't have forgotten how to waltz in that time?" she smirked slightly, raising an eyebrow.

Maybe she was thinking about what could happen if the situation was reversed and they had actually got married today.

"Of course not," he replied, both to her question and his un-spoken thought.

"Shall we then?"

"OK…" he replied a little uncertain as the opening strains of the waltz sounded across the room. Matthew was very hesitant with his steps. Mary was much more confident, leading him around the floor.

"What are you thinking about Matthew? You are obviously distracted."

"It's just…well…"

"Yes?" she quirked her brow.

"Well is this really appropriate? Considering our history?"

"I don't see the issue."

"Your husband has just left the room and you have come to dance with me? Does that not sound a little suspect to you?"

"Matthew? You can't possibly think I had any ulterior motives? Can you? I couldn't sit out for a dance. You were the only man in the room that I wanted to dance with that I hadn't danced with already. If it makes you feel any better, it was either dance with you, or dance with Strallan. I'm not sure if I can ever take him seriously after that salty pudding incident. Besides, he was born with two left feet - I'd rather leave my own wedding ball with my feet intact."

That elicited a small chuckle from Matthew, his second of the evening. He sobered quickly.

"Matthew? What's wrong? It's not like you to be so silent."

"We've changed, haven't we? You are now Lady Mary Carlisle and I'm no longer family to you."

"Don't be ridiculous," her gaze hardened slightly. "I hope you won't treat me like a stranger."

"What kind of married woman regularly fraternises with her fourth cousin?"

"To be honest I don't know many women with fourth cousins so I couldn't possibly say!" she replied hotly. "Really, what has go into you tonight?"

"A lot of champagne…and maybe some whisky earlier…I'm just confused Mary. Why are you dancing with me?"

"Because you are part of my family, and you are, I hope, still my friend."

"I'll always be your friend Mary. But I want to be more. You know what I said the last time we danced. I told you that you are my stick. That hasn't changed. You may have, but that hasn't."

"Matthew, stop," Mary held up her hand. "You don't know what you are saying. Here of all places."

"Tell me you feel the same way. Tell me what you are really feeling? Are you really happy with Carlisle?"

"I'm perfectly content with Richard," she said, diplomatically, with all the air and grace of an aristocrat.

"Is contentment the same as passion? Desire? True love? Is that the same wanting somebody so deeply that they even haunt your dreams?"

"Matthew, control yourself," Mary hissed.

"I love you. I desire you. We could have, we should have married in 1914. I want you as my wife, Mary. You still haunt my dreams."

"Matthew, stop! Just stop Matthew! That part of my life is over!"

"Is it?" he replied before moving closer towards her.

* * *

"It all came back, the sensation of what could have been. I lost control, and tried to kiss her. She slapped me."

"I left for London that morning. I haven't been back to Yorkshire since. She's happily married by all accounts and now lives in New York. I don't really want to go back to Yorkshire. Too many memories."

A calm silence enveloped them as they finished their drinks. Matthew downed his Scotch and called for another, his seventh that night.

"Why am I telling you all of this?" he asked suddenly, his voice slurring a little.

"Because you've had a little too much to drink and once I get you back to wherever it is that you live in this city, we'll probably never meet again. That's why you've told me, Mr Crawley."

"Please, call me Matthew, Miss Ashbridge."

"Only if you call me Alicia," she replied.

"Mr Crawley won't be drinking that," she gestured to the newly poured scotch. "How much do we owe you?"

"Just put it on my tab." Matthew mumbled. Before stumbling as he got up.

"Here, let me," said Alicia, steadying him.

"Why are you helping me?" asked Matthew slowly, his speech slurring.

"Because I want to, is that excuse enough?"

"I don't deserve you, just like I didn't deserve them."

Alicia ignored him as Matthew leant heavily on her shoulder as they left the club. Once they got out into the cool autumn air, she hailed a cab.

"Where to? Miss?"

"Matthew, what's your address?" Alicia asked gently.

Matthew didn't respond. Instead he vomited into the street.

After taking a moment to clean him up with a handkerchief she found in his jacket pocket and a rag given to her by the driver. Alicia gave him an address: "Crowborough Place if you please."

"Your friend had a little too much to drink?" the cabbie asked rhetorically.

"I would have thought it obvious. I only hope he doesn't throw up all over me."

"Well it would be me who would be cleaning it. So he better not."

The rhythm of the car reminded a semi-conscious Matthew of the car journey he had taken with the Dowager Countess that spring night.

* * *

After he had managed to escape the dance floor and a furious Mary, with a little of his fast evaporating dignity intact he met Carlisle in the entrance hall.

"Cousin Matthew? Can I call you that? After all, we are cousins now," the Scot called as Matthew hurried towards the green baize door and towards the kitchens.

"Go to hell!" he shouted his response over his shoulder.

A rather bemused Sir Richard Carlisle then almost ran into the Dowager.

"I'm terribly sorry Lady Grantham!" he hurriedly apologised. If there was one Crawley he feared, it was the Dowager Countess – both because of her formidable reputation and because Mary adored her.

"Do watch where you are going Sir Richard. If you can't see one old woman without running into her first then I hesitate to see how you have survived in London for so long. All those lamp-posts, and bollards."

"Yes, Lady Grantham. I try my best to avoid them."

"Good evening Sir Richard," she said in dismissal before striding to the waiting car.

"Good evening and good riddance," she murmured to herself.

"Good evening Pratt," she called, approaching the waiting chauffeur.

"Where to m'lady?"

"Home, Pratt," she replied as she climbed in. "It's been a very tiring day."

"Yes m'lady."

The Sunbeam limousine lumbered along the dark road towards the village. Its huge front headlights illuminating the gloom like a bug-eyed monster. Matthew saw the car before he heard it. In his slightly alcohol infused state and between watching his feet and swigging from a bottle of scotch he'd stolen from under Carson's nose, he didn't actually register that he might have to get out of the way. It took Pratt several beeps of the horn to encourage the obstacle to move off the highway.

It was only when the Sunbeam accelerated past the wandering drunk and the Dowager glanced out into the murky night at the person who had impeded her passage home that she registered that the wandering drunk could have at one point become her grandson-in-law.

"Stop the car Pratt," she called to her chauffeur.

"Right you are m'lady," he pulled over to the verge.

"That gentleman we just passed on the road, invite him inside if you please."

"Yes m'lady." Whilst as a chauffeur to a great house, he was not adverse to unusual requests, for the Dowager Countess to invite a stranger off the road into Her Ladyship's car was highly unusual indeed. He left the engine running, before walking back up the road to find the drunk on the road.

"Excuse me, sir!" he called to the man staggering twenty yards ahead of him, clutching a glass bottle.

"Excuse me sir!" he repeated. Grabbing the drunk's arm as he stumbled into Pratt's path. In the light of the limousine's tail lights, Pratt glimpsed the face of the drunk who was, to his utmost astonishment, none other than Matthew Crawley, the Grantham heir.

"Mr Matthew, sir? What happened to you, sir?"

"I got drunk," he slurred.

"I can see that sir. Let's get your inside the car, sir. Her Ladyship wishes to speak to you."

Matthew grunted in reply as he was guided towards the Sunbeam.

"Well? What have you got to say for yourself?" asked the Dowager Countess as she took in the dishevelled state of the Grantham heir flopping on the seat across from her.

"I got drunk."

"That is an understatement," she replied as the car began to move once again. "I do have eyes you know, I may be old but I'm not blind. I saw what happened between you and Mary. If you want my opinion, I think she's been a fool but that is neither here nor there. The deed is done."

"She's gone," he said flatly.

"Yes, and its time you moved on. You've danced around each other for long enough, it's time for this charade to end. It has become embarrassing for you and for her."

"Yes. Yes it has," he slurred.

"So, to that end, I am telling you to leave Downton. Unless your manner completely changes and you can find yourself being civil to Carlisle – he's a bore, he's a cad, I know," holding up her hand to stop Matthew's indignant process. "But now he is family."

"I see, so I'm being cast out. I'm the one who has to leave?" he murmured before falling into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When Matthew came downstairs at half nine o'clock the next morning, he found his mother at breakfast. But she wasn't alone. The Dowager, often considered a lady of leisure and unaccustomed to rising before ten was taking tea.

"Ah, there you are. It's about time. I thought I would be forced to finish my tea and return for luncheon."

"Mother, what is going on?"

"Cousin Violet has a plan that I happen to agree with it."

"I did tell you yesterday, it isn't my problem that you fell asleep."

Nursing a headache, a bewildered Matthew Crawley asked the obvious; "What plan?"

* * *

"So I'm the one who has to leave?" he murmured.

"Not cast out, Matthew, but even if it's only temporary, you should be out of the county by the time they return. I'm telling you to take a holiday. Go to London or Brighton or even back to Manchester and only return when you find yourself in a position to be civil to Carlisle. If you can't find the will to do that in England then go to America. I may dislike Americans as a rule but, and it pains my heart to say it, our kind of people are dying out. The number of heirs killed in the war has shattered the aristocracy. You are an eligible bachelor and you should look to find a wife…"

* * *

"And you agree with this?" Matthew asked his mother.

"I do. I think it's sensible. After all, what are you going to do with yourself? You still have potential an you won't need to worry about the estate. Robert will have it in hand."

"You mean Robert will have the advice of Carlisle."

"Well he is a successful businessman," retorted the Dowager.

"He's also a swine. What experience does he have of running an estate?"

"He's got Mary to guide him."

Matthew let out a hollow laugh. "So i'm to be replaced. You're banishing me."

"No Matthew. We're telling you to see a bit of the world, to refresh yourself. You've got an opportunity here."

"As I said last night, I think Mary has been a fool but she has made her bed and must lie in it. You have the opportunity to break your infatuation with her. It will only do more harm than good in the future."

"I'm sure you wouldn't want to make Mary's life difficult."

And there it was. For as long she walked the Earth, he wouldn't want to unwittingly corrupt her. He left on the afternoon train to York the same day.

He stayed the night before taking the train back to Manchester.

* * *

"We're nearly there," she said as the cab proceeded at a stately pace through Belgravia. Crowborough Place was a small, leafy square with two entrances and a small park in the centre, surrounded by tall stucco faced houses. It was typical of Belgravia.

"Just here please," called out Alicia and the cab came to a halt outside Number One, Crowborough Place. The number being illuminated by the street lamp outside the door.

After paying the cabbie their fare and with some effort, Alicia pulled the doorbell and was met a moment later by her butler.

"Poole, please see that Mr Crawley is settled in one of the guest bedrooms."

"Will he be staying the night, Your Grace?"

"I don't think he is any state to travel. Do you Poole?"

"Of course Your Grace," Poole replied, slightly abashed. "I'll see that Mrs Fleming is prepared to serve him breakfast in the morning. Will he require a valet in the morning?"

"I'm not sure, he will need somebody to change him tonight see that he has somebody to help him in the morning. Make sure he has a carafe of water at his bedside."

"Certainly, Your Grace," replied the stoic butler.

"In the meantime, you may help me move him to the drawing room. I can wait with him until the room is ready."

The next morning, Matthew Crawley woke in unfamiliar pyjamas, between unfamiliar sheets in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar house. He saw that his clothes from the night before neatly folded on a chair by the bed. He got dressed before spying a tasselled bell pull. He pulled upon it and moments later a man in a footman's livery knocked on his door. Whilst he waited, he realised he had little in the way of knowledge of what happened the night before.

"Good morning sir, I'm Arthur. Her Grace said you may need some help this morning."

"Her Grace?" asked a confused Matthew. "Where the hell am I?"

* * *

 _A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Please tell me what you think. This is Chapter One, hopefully of many, but updates will be sporadic at best. If you want a visual reference for Alicia, think Anne Hathaway. Do leave some feedback with the buttons below._


	2. Chapter 2

**With or Without You – Chapter 2 – Plotting and Planning**

 _A/N: So it has been 11 months since this was updated. Life, fleeting muses, other stories, other universes have all got in the way and come and gone. By all means go back to the first chapter and refresh yourself. This has been in the works since last July it's just been a matter of time…_

* * *

" _Her Grace?" asked a confused Matthew, "Where the hell am I?"_

"Not in hell sir," replied Arthur patiently. "You are currently in one of the guest bedrooms at Crowborough Place, home of the late Duke of Crowborough and his wife, the current Duchess."

"How did I get here?"

"Her Grace brought you home last night, at around midnight."

"I don't remember any of this."

"Well sir, you were by all accounts…"

"Yes?"

"How does one put this politely?" Arthur winced, "you were rather inebriated."

"You don't need to soften it. I was drunk. I have been for a great deal of the last 5 years."

"As you wish sir. Her Grace tried to take you home but on failing to ascertain an address for you, she had us put you in a guest room for the night. She is expecting you at breakfast."

"I have a splitting headache."

"Well I hear that is one of the consequences of consuming such a large quantity of alcohol." Arthur was still very young and fresh faced. "I don't drink sir," he continued, in an effort to dispel Matthew's puzzled look.

"Well, I'll just get dressed, make my apologies and leave."

"No sir, I'm afraid Her Grace insisted that you take breakfast with her. You need to get up sir."

"I see. Where are my clothes?"

"That's just it sir, I have to measure you up," Arthur produced a tape measure from behind his back.

"Measure me up? Are you a tailor or a footman?"

"Well when Her Grace brought you home, you vomited in the drawing room, all over your shirt."

"I should reimburse her for the cleaning."

"Oh no sir, Poole – that is the butler – had newspaper put down all around you beforehand and the carpet was saved. Your shirt however was the unfortunate victim of it all."

"I see."

"Yes, so I have to measure you to check whether some of the late Duke's things will fit you. We can't be seen to be sending you out of the door improperly dressed. Even if it is nineteen-twenty-five."

Matthew grimaced. "I really don't want to cause a fuss."

"It is no trouble at all. Lift your arms please."

"My arms?"

"So I can put this around you," Arthur waved the tape measure. "Yes, it should do nicely," he muttered to nobody in particular. "If you want to perform your morning ablutions Mr Crawley, the bathroom is just through there," he pointed to a door that had been left ajar. "You should find everything you need in there. I will be back in ten minutes." Arthur promptly left the room.

Matthew sank back against the pillow with more questions than answers. He didn't really know where he was although 'Crowborough' rang a bell, wasn't he one of Mary's suitors? He certainly didn't know anything about the Duchess or how he had met her. He had no recollection of the journey to this bedroom nor how he had come to be wearing a fine set of blue silk pyjamas with a monogram and an unfamiliar coat of arms on the breast pocket.

His head was splitting. Arthur had been thoughtful enough (although it was Matthew supposed, his job) to leave a box of aspirin, a glass and a carafe of water. He took two pills for the pain before hauling himself out of bed, putting on the dressing gown that had been left draped over a nearby chair (with matching monogram and arms) and wandered into the bathroom.

* * *

Times might have changed but the breakfast process at Downton remained the same as ever. His Lordship would breakfast in the dining room in the company of the day's _Times_. Her Ladyship would take breakfast on a tray with the _Sketch_. Carson would observe proceedings in the dining room, O'Brien in Her Ladyship's chamber.

Since Edith (consistently unlucky in love) had left to travel the continent and Sybil had eloped, Robert Crawley more often than not broke his fast alone. A crueller commentator may have added, 'with only a dog for company.'

The only item of interest in the day's edition of _The Times_ was the news of the passage through the House of Lords of the act that would abolish the entail on the Downton Estate. He'd known about it for months. Who in the House of Lords hadn't? The act was designed to resolve the problems encountered by many great estates when their heirs had been blown to pieces during the Great War.

However, Downton Abbey was in the unusual position of having had its succession happily settled for over a decade. The estate could go in its entirety to the heir to the title. Although Matthew Crawley had survived the horrors of the Great War, he had not done so unscathed. He now appeared in terminal decline, haunted by the ghosts of war, two old loves and an estate entailed to him that he had never desired in the first place. The new act could solve the last of these problems.

Robert could now change things if he wished. But who could inherit instead?

Matthew had never wanted the estate.

Sybil and her Irish husband had no desire to have Downton.

Edith had her own little newspaper empire and was quite content to flit around the continent, unencumbered by a great house.

Mary was now in America. Married to man who had now made his own home in America. To the Carlisles, Downton would be dead wood. Unnecessary baggage. Maybe once upon a time, before Mary was married to Carlisle (Robert was still repulsed by the idea that he was his son in law), it would have been prudent to leave the estate to her on his death. She would have been the best possible steward. Yet now she had her own life, her own estate, her own fortune. Lady Mary Carlisle no longer moved in the same circles as the rest of the family. His mother might have called it the taint of new money.

Carlisle himself could never come to appreciate the value of the English stately home. He'd turned Haxby Park into some sort of health retreat. Like Switzerland without the Alps. Patients could pay exorbitant amounts to take the English country air. Ghastly.

'What should be done?' mused Robert as he tucked into his eggs and bacon.

* * *

Arthur had returned as he had promised, ten minutes later.

"If you'd like to try these on sir?"

"I should be going Arthur." Matthew was standing in his dressing gown looking out at the leafy square.

"Her Grace was quite insistent that you breakfast with her."

"You will have to give her my apologies."

"When Arthur told me that, I thought a change of venue might do." The Duchess strode into the room. "If you could bring those things through Poole. I'm sure Mr Crawley won't mind," she raised an eyebrow, daring him to do something inappropriate.

"Well…" Matthew trailed off.

"If you want to get dressed in the bathroom, breakfast will be ready for you then," Alicia dismissed him.

"If you'd come this way sir." Arthur guided him into the bathroom while Alicia oversaw the delivery of a small dining table, two chairs and the breakfast things into Matthew's room.

When Matthew emerged in a suit that was a little too big for him, Alicia had already started eating.

"I hope you don't mind," she gestured at him to sit. "It's just after last night I've been ravenous. The kippers are rather good."

"I will tell Mrs Goddard that, Your Grace." Arthur chimed in as he left the room.

"Thank you for getting Mr Crawley up, Arthur."

"Look is this really appropriate?" Matthew asked, slightly exasperated that he was being treated as part of the furniture.

"Is what appropriate? Me being here? Eating breakfast with you in your room? Bringing you home drunk last night? Having you cleaned up and put to bed?"

"Yes all of this."

"Probably not. Then again I'm not a stickler for propriety. What well respecting aristocrat would bring home a drunk that they'd only known for an hour?"

"You," Matthew said simply.

"Well, I'm not even considered an aristocrat by some people."

"Duchess of Crowborough?"

"I've always detested the title really. I was the only daughter of a baronet who became the sole heir to a fortune left by a distant relative I'd never met."

"I became heir to a great titled estate that I've never wanted and that I'd never even heard of before I was told I would inherit. My father was a middle class doctor from Manchester."

"So we aren't so different, you and I."

"Except if I came to your room to breakfast with you and you hadn't even dressed, the scandal for both of us would have been colossal."

"What if we were married?" Alicia asked innocently. "Or, more scandalously, what if you were my lover?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you're bereaved, pining after the unobtainable Lady Mary and I'm a widow to a man I'm not actually sure ever loved me. We could have easily found one another."

"How much did I tell you last night?"

"Not enough for me to deliver you to your home last night. But still enough for me to know that you have two lost loves, one of whom you nearly compromised at her wedding. Which you turned up drunk to."

"I really think I should go. I'll have the clothes sent back to you."

"Sit and eat. I'm not letting you go out with an empty stomach!"

"Who are you? My mother?"

"Well I would have thought that to be biologically impossible. How old do you think I am?"

"Uhh…"

"No, don't answer that. It's impolite to guess a lady's age."

"And you are a great lady."

"A widowed Duchess, all alone with a considerable estate. Most of which I never really wanted."

"I see what you mean."

"Pardon?"

"You're right, we aren't that different. We both are in places we never wanted to be."

"Well whether my husband truly loved me or not, there was at least some affection between us. I can't complain about that."

"You were lucky."

"You've been stuck in a rut for far too long."

"I don't want your help thank you."

"If you truly meant that, you would have left hours ago. You may not want my help but you need help. You know I looked you up in Debrett's and Who's Who. You realise you are one of the last eligible heirs of your generation. You are young and apart from the alcoholism, healthy and attractive. It's time you stopped wasting away."

"Who are you to tell me that?"

"Your new best friend. What would the Grantham Crawleys think if they knew you were wasting away in a second rate night club with first rate drinks. What would Mary say? What about Lavinia?"

"You have no right…"

"No, you have no right to destroy yourself over what you evidently cannot have."

"Who are you?"

"Somebody acting in your best interests."

"Well thanks but no thanks. I never asked for your help. I don't want it."

"You need help sir, or you'll just be another drunk in the gutter. You were a good man once."

"Once," he gave a hollow laugh. "Once I was all those things you may assume I am, but not anymore. I just want to crawl unburdened towards death."

"Well that never worked for Lear. He lost everything. If your mother saw you now. I'm sure she'd say how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child! Look at yourself."

"Lear was going senile."

"And you aren't? Well, why else would a perfectly healthy, wealthy man with good prospects waste away like you are now? Pull yourself together!"

"You sound like my mother."

"Well then she must be a good woman."

"Forthright. Enjoys championing a cause."

"Attractive?"

"That's not my department."

"You mean to say that you don't find me attractive?" she asked coyly.

"Well…uhhh…"

"Well while you consider your answer, finish your breakfast before it gets cold."

* * *

"The Dowager Countess milord." Carson announced in his deep baritone.

"Good morning Mama."

"Robert, I suppose you've already heard about it."

"If you are talking about that new Act…"

"Well of course I'm talking about it."

Robert turned to look out over the grounds.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"What can I do about it?"

"Are you going to deny Mary her inheritance?"

"You mean am I going to give my cad of a son-in-law the keys to Downton Abbey so he can turn it into some kind of retreat for the upper-middle class while I cast the man I would rather have had marry my eldest daughter out?"

"If it hadn't been for the entail it would be hers already."

"Will you be changing your will?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"The estate must go to one person. Your father would role in his grave if he knew you planned to split it up."

"Sybil won't want it. Edith would find it a burden. Rosamund has her own life."

"I don't think you need to worry about your sister. Have you talked to Cora?"

"Why?"

"Because maybe your wife could offer you advice."

"It can only go to Mary or Matthew. I suppose I could leave it in the custody of a board of trustees."

"It must stay in the family Robert."

"Do we know where Matthew is?"

"London."

"He hasn't been back in Yorkshire for five years."

"I know, Isobel and I put him on the train ourselves."

"There hasn't been as much as a telegram."

"Well maybe it's time he came back."

"Perhaps."

"I thought you didn't want to disinherit Matthew."

"I thought you'd rather have me make the estate over to Mary."

"I hope I'm not interrupting." Cora walked into the room. "I heard raised voices."

"No my dear, your husband is just unable to make up his mind."

"Is this about that vote?"

"Yes, darling."

"Well Edith and Sybil won't want it."

"We've established that," replied her husband.

"What is Matthew getting up to these days?"

"Drinking in London clubs. Or so my spies tell me."

"Was exiling him really necessary?"

"We did what was necessary. Anyway, we all agreed that it was best."

"At the time. Do we know if he is doing anything useful in London?"

"Well…" for the first time the dowager looked slightly lost, if not uncomfortable.

"You have to make the decision Robert as to whether to leave the estate to Mary or Matthew," Cora summarised.

"You don't have a cousin who would want to inherit?" Robert said lamely.

"Don't avoid the problem Robert, not when it is staring you in the face." His wife rebuked him.

"Besides, it's time Mary came home for a visit."

"You've already wired her."

"I might have stopped off at the post office before coming here," the Dowager smiled wryly.

* * *

"An urgent telegram for you milady," said the maid. "From England," she added.

"Thank you Martin," she dismissed the maid. How she longed for Anna. "Have somebody tell my husband that I'll see him at breakfast in half an hour. I'll wake the children."

To say that Lady Mary Carlisle was happily married would very much depend on the reader's definition of the word 'happy'. A wealthy husband, two wonderful young children and a New York mansion. The very picture of perfection. The picture didn't show the lack of intimacy between husband and wife – they didn't share the marital bed every night and more often than not he was away 'on business'…

The telegram made her a little nervous. At one time a telegram only meant bad news. As soon as the maid had disappeared, she tore it open.

 _Entail smashed STOP Come home STOP Letter to follow STOP Granny STOP_

Mary let a long breath out and sank back against the pillows.

* * *

"Will you be contacting Matthew?" asked the Dowager.

"Do you want the satisfaction of summoning him?" he asked his mother.

"Well I can pass by the post office again if you like on my way home?"

"You'll stay for lunch?" asked Cora.

"No, I have letters to write."

"A letter for you milord. It came in the second post," announced Carson, bearing it on a silver tray.

Robert found his letter opener on the desk and slit open the envelope.

"Have my car brought around Carson."

"Yes, my lady."

"You may not want to depart so quickly Mama."

"Why what is it?" asked Cora and Violet simultaneously.

Robert handed over the sheet of paper.

 _Crowborough Place_

 _London_

 _SW1_

 _Wednesday April 7th 1925_

 _Dear Lord Grantham,_

 _I feel that it is my duty to inform you of the condition of your heir, Mr Matthew Crawley, formerly of Manchester. The man is wasting away in London. I met him, drunk in a London nightclub this evening and as I write he is currently emptying the contents of his stomach across my drawing room floor._

 _For a man of such stature, potential and eligibility to be brought so low in such a public fashion is a disgraceful tragedy. It is clear that your family have no idea of the state of Mr Crawley, he tells me he has not set foot in the northern counties for the past five years._

 _I hope this letter compels you to do something about his sorry situation._

 _Yours,_

 _Alicia Chadwick_

 _Duchess of Crowborough_

"Crowborough, the name is familiar." Robert mused.

"He was one of Mary's suitors before the war. Blew his brains out with a shotgun. Sad business," finished the Dowager.

"And the Duchess?" asked Cora.

"Young, handsome by all accounts. The daughter of a baronet who was fortunate to inherit a vast fortune from a distant relative. She and your erstwhile heir must be about the same age."

"She sounds very concerned about him. You don't think -"

"No Cora, you will not find fast paced romance among the British aristocracy. We all should know that by now," the Dowager cut across her successor pointedly.

"I'm not sure we can say that there is any affection between them based on a single night of acquaintance," Robert remarked.

"Nonetheless, it seems we have an ally in London. Perhaps somebody who may be useful in rehabilitating Matthew. It is time everybody laid old ghosts to rest. I will wire the Duchess of Crowborough and invite Her Grace and Matthew back to Downton."

"Mama, is trying to force a match between Matthew and this Duchess we have never met, a good idea?"

"If Matthew is to inherit Downton, he needs a wife," the Dowager said matter-of-factly.

"Mary already has a husband – Sir Richard."

"Precisely," the Dowager exclaimed as if stating the obvious. "I don't know why you take such a liking to that man, he's given me my first great-grandchildren I admit but the man is repulsive. No, the estate must go to Matthew."

"Mama, you leave me in an impossible position. I accept that the estate ought to stay within the family, but only Mary and Matthew would have any interest in maintaining it. If I leave it to Mary it will most likely become part of Carlisle's empire and be torn apart. If it goes to Matthew, I deny my eldest daughter her inheritance."

"There is of course a solution to all of this," Cora said.

"Don't even think about it. There hasn't been a divorce in this family ever," snapped the Dowager.

"Sadly my dear, I think the dream of Mary marrying the Matthew has long since been shattered by reality. Before the war, perhaps," Robert said wistfully.

"You know, if Matthew knew, he'd want to give it all to Mary at the drop of a hat," said Cora.

"Matthew has no choice in the matter. He is heir to the title and a titled aristocrat without an estate is as useful as a glass hammer," the Dowager was authoritative.

"Why not split the estate between them?" asked Cora.

"It wouldn't work unless they were married," replied Robert.

"Which now they never will be," the Dowager said shortly.

"And so we are back to square one," Robert sighed.

"I will go into the village and send those telegrams. What is clear is that both must come to Downton."

* * *

"Why are you helping me?" asked Matthew as he set his cutlery down for the final time.

"If you must know, it's because you remind me of my father. The man went to pieces after my mother died."

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

"The sad truth is, he would still be alive if he'd listened to some friendly advice."

"So why me?"

"You were there. We got talking and I found our conversation very therapeutic. You're not the only one harbouring old ghosts."

"I suppose you remember all of my conversation. I'm afraid I remember none of yours. I can't even remember your name."

Alicia stood up and stuck out her hand. "Alicia Chadwick, formerly Ashbridge, 7th Duchess of Crowborough. The widowed husband of Phillip Chadwick, the 8th Duke."

Matthew rose, and shook her hand while reintroducing himself. "Matthew Crawley, formerly of Manchester. Heir to the Earl of Grantham."

"Mr Crawley," she gestured at him to sit.

"Your Grace," Matthew echoed in kind.

"Please, call me Alicia."

"In that case, you must call me Matthew."

"So tell me Matthew, what brings a man like you to a place like this?"

"A generous stranger and a bottle of scotch." Matthew quipped. "Yourself?"

"I just live here," she giggled. "Shall we go down? I suppose I should give you the tour."

"No, I've intruded for long enough. I should go."

"Don't be ridiculous. You owe me for restoring you to some semblance of health. Besides, we were just getting to know one another. You must stay, I insist."

"I really should be going."

"Indulge me Matthew. Do you have any other pressing engagements apart from a meeting with your whisky bottle?"

"Uh-"

"I thought not. Come on, let me impress you."

* * *

Matthew had to admit that the interiors of Crowborough Place were a delight, wasted on such a small household. Alicia Chadwick wasn't the kind to host parties, evening soirees or fancy dinners. While he was sober, he clearly realised that the woman was desperately lonely. She was young but rattling about in a large London mansion. She had her passions to occupy herself and Matthew took the time to envy her library and admire the gardens, but Matthew couldn't help thinking that it all seemed a little soulless, like some essential ingredient was missing.

Of course that ingredient was obvious – there was the grand house, the fortune, the title, but no Duke. The line of Crowborough had been extinguished just as many other great families had been in the horror of war. It sobered Matthew to an extent. At one time he considered himself unlucky not to have died while all of those around him perished. Now he realised that he had been very fortunate – he would not have wanted to put the ones he loved through the anguish of losing him. Even if he quite clearly didn't have a future with the one he loved – still loves – above all others.

Although, just because he had chosen to disassociate himself with Downton Abbey, did not mean he had stopped appreciating it or its inhabitants. They proved that morning to be as resourceful as ever as Matthew's tour was interrupted in the morning room by a telephone call.

"I'm ever so sorry Your Grace," intoned the footman with a small bow, "Sir, there is a telephone call for you, if you would like to take it in the hall."

"Who is it?" asked Matthew, surprised that anybody knew that he was here at all.

"I suspect it will be one of your relations at Downton Abbey, I might have written to Lord Grantham while you were regurgitating the contents of your stomach on the carpet in the drawing room.

"I see. I'd better go and see what they want," he said. "Good morning?"

" _Matthew."_

"Cousin Violet, I must say that I am surprised."

" _Not as surprised as I am."_

"How did you know?"

" _Well the Duchess was gracious enough to update us on your whereabouts this morning. Her letter came in the second post. I was going to wire you anyhow. It was, I admit, a moment of inspiration on my part to try to get you on the telephone and as you can see, I have succeeded."_ She sounded as pleased as Punch.

"Five years and nothing from anybody in Yorkshire. Not as much as a Christmas card, except from Mother." Matthew said pointedly.

" _That is not to say that you made any effort either."_

"Well-"

" _Your mother and I are still of the same mind, it was the right decision to send you away, even if she has since gone to America."_

"Was I not to be trusted?"

" _You tried to kiss her at her wedding before fleeing like a thief in the night. Things were getting out of hand Matthew."_

"Yes, well-"

" _It's all ancient history now. What's more pressing is the news in the papers today."_

"I haven't read it."

" _I won't pretend to understand all of the legalities but the entail is smashed."_

"So Mary can inherit," Matthew said automatically. "Lord Grantham can restore her birth right."

" _No."_

"I'm sorry? I don't understand."

" _I said no. It is more complex than that. The estate must stay within the family."_

"Mary is family."

" _Is she? She's making a good show of it if she is. Have you not noticed that she is happily living in exile with a loathsome man for a husband? Did you not see what happened to Haxby? It would kill Robert to see Downton fall into the hands of such a philanderer."_

"It must go to Mary." Matthew insisted.

" _Have you forgotten that you are partly the reason why the estate still functions? We certainly haven't,"_ the Dowager asked in reference to the one hundred and twenty thousand pound deposit Matthew had made into the Crawley account after the death of the late Reggie Swire. _"That ties you to the estate's future. It must be allowed to continue as it has done for centuries else it won't just be the Crawley pride that suffered. The estate needs a figurehead. It needs its heir back."_

"No."

" _I beg your pardon. You will come back. You must come back. Would you rather see Downton sold off piecemeal and become a hotel? Or worse? Too many great families, great houses, great estates have fallen. We must not allow Downton to go the same way. We are not owners, but custodians. Downton must endure. The estate will fall if Richard Carlisle is allowed the run of the place."_

"The estate is rightfully Mary's. I don't want any part of it. I never have done."

" _She may not want it."_

"I highly doubt that."

" _If she was truly interested, she would already be here to secure the succession. I've telegrammed her about the entail but I've had no response. Hopefully she will be home within a month."_

"Home, and finally getting what she has always deserved. I do not want to interfere."

" _And I'm telling you that you must."_

"No."

" _The estate must go to the heir."_

"Mary is the heir."

" _Not to the title."_

"Who gives a damn about the title? I'll renounce it."

" _You wouldn't dare."_

"What purpose does it serve?"

" _It is the natural order of things. What would Mary say if you did?"_

"I doubt she would care. We hardly know one another!"

" _I find that hard to believe. You are clearly still in love with her and Io would be lying if I said that I don't think that she has ever stopped loving you. How do you think she would feel if she knew that you'd been wasting yourself away for five years when you could have been making the most of your life? You've been pining for far too long. Sober up. Come back."_

"How much does Mary know about what I've been up to?" asked Matthew sheepishly.

" _She knows nothing…but I'm sure that that doesn't mean that she has stopped caring, even if you stopped fighting for her. Why in Gods' name did you let her marry that man?"_

"I'd be betraying Lavinia."

" _The girl is dead. Stop wallowing in grief. There is nothing that you could have done."_

"Perhaps. But it would have been dishonourable."

" _And your current condition is angelic? Come back to Downton. Meet Mary…"_

"Uh-"

" _Yes, I'm inviting them all back to England. They should accept. I'm also inviting the Duchess to come to stay, in fact when we have finished speaking, I wish to speak to her._

"The Duchess?"

" _Of Crowborough, the one who's hospitality and care you have been enjoying so much in the last twenty four hours."_

"She insisted."

" _She is a remarkable but unfortunate woman but that is neither here nor there. I will expect you both in Yorkshire by the end of the week. Expect to stay for some time."_

"And how are you going to persuade Alicia?"

" _Alicia?"_

"The Duchess of Crowborough. She insisted I call her Alicia."

" _Did she now? Well in that case this is better than I thought. I have no doubt that she saw something in you, I hope to capitalise on it and appeal to her good nature."_

"I would appreciate it if people stopped interfering in my private life. It's never worked in the past."

" _The woman sounds bored. What else could have possessed her to bring you, a complete stranger into her home?"_

"Uh-"

" _And then insist that you stay beyond breakfast and then be on first name terms with you in the space of less than twenty four hours?"_

"I-"

" _We will expect you both at Downton at the end of the week."_

"You cannot."

" _Really?"_

"I won't come back."

" _Then you would be doing your honour a disservice."_

"No, I'd be preserving hers." Matthew said flatly.

" _You are a grown adult. Start acting like one. I know you still love her but the moment has long passed. You can both sit down to dinner and not make fools of the other."_

"How can you be so sure?"

" _I can't, but it has to be done. It is necessary."_

"How can you be the judge of that?"

" _Because I have been in this family for decades. Do you think that this is the first time two people have blundered about with unrequited love for one another and various obstacles in their way?"_

"This is different."

" _I'll be the judge of that. Goodbye Matthew. I will talk to the Duchess now,"_ the Dowager said in dismissal.

* * *

"The Dowager Countess, my Cousin Violet, wishes to speak with you on the 'phone", Matthew announced, walking back into the morning room as Alicia stared out of the window.

"Well I'm told she is a formidable woman."

"I've only ever known five women that I would call 'formidable'. One of which is my mother, another Mary, the third is Mary's sister and the other is old Lady Grantham."

"That's four. Who is the fifth?"

"Somebody I met recently," Matthew smiled. "Anyway, it wouldn't do to keep Violet waiting."

"Absolutely. Especially if she is as formidable as you say she is," Alicia said as she left the room.

* * *

"Mama…stop it…I'm sleeping…" grumbled the little boy.

"Michael, it's time to wake up," Mary shook her son gently, sitting down on the bed and watching his eyes open. "There you go. I want you to have breakfast with me."

"What about E?"

"Now we've talked about this Michael, your sister is called Elizabeth, not E."

"But she is E."

Mary sighed.

"Elizabeth will be joining us downstairs. Now, can you pick out some clothes for yourself while I go and wake your sister?"

"Yes Mama," the little boy said sullenly.

"Thank you," Mary rose and crossed the landing to her daughter's room.

Elizabeth was Michael's twin. The pregnancy was wonderful but the labour was something Mary never wanted to experience again!

"Elizabeth, it's time to wake up." Mary repeated the process, shaking her daughter's shoulder gently only for her daughter to roll away across the bed. "Lizzie! Come on now. Up you get."

"Don't want to…" she murmured.

"Well I'm afraid you must. I want us to have breakfast together."

"Will Papa be there?"

"I don't know. He's a very busy man." 'Busy with his mistress in Manhattan,' she added in a silent afterthought.

"I want Papa."

"I know you do." 'But I'm not sure he wants any of us,' she thought. "Come on. Time you got up. Michael is already awake. Do you want me to do your hair?"

"Yes please Mama."

"Well if you get out of bed and go and wash your face. I'll go and see how your brother is doing."

Mary crossed the hall again. She knew that most women in her position had Nanny for this sort of thing and Richard had insisted on hiring one, but waking the children and eating breakfast with them was one of her small pleasures.

"Ah, excellent Michael," she took in her son's appearance. His blue eyes and fop of blonde hair seemed so familiar somehow. It was of course impossible she reminded herself. After all, if it was, they wouldn't be in New York. "If you go down to the dining room, I'm sure Papa is already down there and James can make you up a plate of food."

"Can I stay with you Mama?"

"I have to help Elizabeth dress. Gentlemen do not go into ladies' bedchambers uninvited." Mary shuddered at the thought, the events of over a decade ago still seemed as fresh as ever. It was one of the reasons she was sensible and did not often sleep in the same room as her husband.

"Yes Mama."

"I will leave you to it then," and leave him she did, smiling to herself.

"I've washed my face and found a dress Mama." Elizabeth held out a blue frock. "Do my hair please."

"I haven't seen that dress before. Is it new?"

"Papa got it for me last week."

"Did he now? It looks very pretty."

"I think so."

There was then a knock on the door.

"E! E! Can we come in?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "I told him gentlemen don't enter ladies' bedrooms without invitation."

"Should I let him in?"

"No, as it happens, I'll allow him. Besides, I have some news for you both," she opened the door. "Come in Michael –ah Richard. What a surprise."

"Can a man not see his children before he goes to work?"

"Of course he can," Mary smiled her polite smile, reserved for indifferent occasions.

"You have some news? I haven't heard? I know you got a telegram this morning."

"You'd better come in and I can tell you all together."

"I'm intrigued."

"What would you say, to going back to England for a few months?"

"What do you mean?" Richard asked cautiously.

Mary wordlessly handed her husband the telegram she had received.

"I see."

* * *

 _A/N: Two very dangerous words. Let me know what you think. Until the next time (whenever that is)!_


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